Victims of Chaos
by Darkfire1
Summary: A story of why you shouldn't drink and drive


Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.  
  
A/N: I wrote this in a fit of inspiration after watching the news. There is a message in this. To all of you people out there who drink, I hope you read this. Just because Saiyans aren't real doesn't mean that similar things can't happen. Instead of Vegeta and his power, you can have a wack job with a gun, and though he can't do as much dammage, for a human that's quite a lot. Drinking and driving destroys lives, families. Just don't do it!  
  
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VICTIMS OF CHAOS  
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Chaos Theory = that actions are so connected that a single choice, a single act, even a thought or natural occurance would affect every other act on the planet.  
  
This theory is kind of like cause and effect on steroids, like a butterfly flaps its wings in the mountains and you have rain instead of sun in New York City. This can, of course be applied to other circumstances, and there are other steps along the way. For instance, the ultimate cause of the destruction of the planet could be one man having too much to drink and his friend not being friend enough to take his keys. That is the story I tell today. What's worse is that it very nearly happened just that way.  
  
The man was never caught. He has no name, no face, no description to give to the police, not even a description of the car he was driving. He left what ever bar had been stupid enough to serve him, staggered to his vehicle, got in and started it. Perhaps he drives around for a bit. He finally gets off the highway, headed toward the mall, destination unknown, perhaps even to himself. He can't think well for the alcohol in his system, can't react when the woman doesn't see him as she is going to her car. The aqua-haired woman is thrown fifteen feet to the side, her head hitting the concrete before she can react to protect herself. With the angle of her flight, the sudden stop sends her body over her head, snapping her neck and killing her instantly. The three-month-old fetus lasts a bit longer. He is strong, but even he, a Saiyan-human hybrid, cannot last at his age without the support of his mother's body, and he too dies, just minutes later.  
  
Miles away, in the heart of a Japanese rock garden, the death of the woman is felt by her bonded mate. The Saiyan's psyche cannot handle the sudden recoil of the bond snapping into his mind. He goes insane in an instant and powers up to the level of ascension in the blink of an eye and flys to where he last felt her energy, hoping with the last shreads of his dying sanity to destroy that which had destroyed his life-mate. He sees her body and holds her in the last act of gentleness he will ever comit, wiping the blood-matted hair away from her face. He kisses her lips. She is not yet cold, but she cannot respond to his touch. Tears that would once have been concidered a weakness flow freely down his face, oddly silent. He will never speak again, never utter another sound, even in his coming rages.  
  
For he does rage. The first thing to go is the mall. The destruction never touches her body, but the rest of the parking lot and then the buildings themselves are taken in his massive energy, along with every life inside them. He rampages over the entire city, not knowing or caring what he is blowing up, not seeing, not hearing, and feeling nothing but pure rage and grief.  
  
By now, we had all sensed his energy. His two still-living children were at my home, playing with my own daughter. They are instantly worried, as am I. Soon my father teleports into my living room, knowing that it will take all of us to stop him, no matter what has happened to cause this rage. It is then that his daughter realizes that she can no longer sense her mother's energy. We now know why, and we know that he cannot be sane. The only way we can stop him is to kill him now.  
  
His son and daughter know that they are about to loose their other parent as well. The boy says that it is just as well. They will be together. They hold their tears and we all prepare for what we must do. My brother is at the house within minutes. My wife begs me not to go, but she knows that I cannot do that. I kiss her farewell, promising to be careful. After all, when attempting to kill a Saiyan Prince, one must most assuredly be careful. We leave in search of him, and find him easily. After all, he is not attempting to hide. He is simply flying, his enegy at an incredible high for this level of transformation, letting his aura gouge the earth like a child dragging a finger through a mud pie. Right now he is over unpopulated areas, so we simply follow him. We all know that talking is useless. We know what has happened. He explained the full meaning of the bond to us long ago, so that we would be prepared for such an eventuality. With every Saiyan it is different. For one like my self, suicide would be the most likely effect. But with one who has spent so much of his life in rage, it is the most well travled course, the most direct route. He has found compassion only late in his life; the rage is easier.  
  
He rounds on us suddenly and begins his attack, firing energy in all directions. He wounds all five of us fairly quickly, but all recover. Trunks and Goten immediately start working him together, having trained as a team. The rest of us stay out of the way for a while. But soon the boys begin to tire. I gather the power that I was taught to use by the Supreme Kai, and my father powers up to the second ascension (SSJ3). With us like this, our prince stands no chance against us. Finally, I get close enough to him to finish him. He will resist of course, but I think there are a few words that will reach him. As I power my blast, I say to him, "I will send you to her."  
  
The words register. As the blast shoots through his heart, he does not attempt to move. He dies, his body giving him final surcease. I cannot look as his tattered shell falls to the ground. It had to be done, but I cannot help but feel dirty. He was not evil. He had stopped being evil a long time ago. What happened this day was not his fault, and I killed him. But I know that there was nothing else I could do.  
  
We bury them side by side in a tripple grave, the unborn child between them. The headstone reads, "Vegeta, Bulma, Boxer Briefs; Victims of Chaos." I carved it for them, the least that I could do. There is a brief eulogy beneath each name. For Vegeta I wrote, "The Prince of his race, true Prince in his heart." For Bulma, "She who held the keys to it." And for the child Boxer, who never knew life, "The treasure within it."  
  
My father seems even more affected by the death of his Prince than I. He lays the royal seal of Vegeta-sei against the head stone, holding it there with the palm of his hand. The thing was crafted out of gold for this very purpose. He raised his ki and melted the metal into the stone's crevices, which had been cut along with the words to hold the medalion.  
  
His daughter places a single white rose on every grave. His son matches her with yellow ones. This will become an anual tradition for them. Even as they begin to move on with their lives, they will never forget.  
  
There has always been chaos in the world. But the events of that horrid day, while not predictible, as Chaos Theory states, they WERE preventable, and that is perhaps what rankles most in my heart. If one man had never stepped into his favorite bar that night, my Prince would still be as alive and anoying as ever. His wife would still be here to be my friend. His second son would have seen the light of day, and become just as strong as the first, if not more. But they are not, and I cannot change it.  
  
~The End  
  
A/N: I trust that the message was loud and clear. 


End file.
